Stronger Than Fear
by Punzie the Platypus
Summary: Katniss is in Dauntless initiation; she and Peeta go through her fear landscape. AU, Soft Everlark.


_**Soli Deo gloria**_

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own The Hunger Games. I'm rereading Divergent (and trying not to be mad at Caleb every time Tris mentions his selflessness and goodness) and I thought of how Katniss might react to a fear surrounding the life and death of Prim. So thus was born the plot to this fic!  
**

**~ Katniss's point of view ~ **

I feel as one being watched. There is no reason for me to be scared, to think that anyone can see me. But I steal along the narrow edges of the chasm and head down towards the fear landscape room. The final level of Dauntless initiation is not for some days yet; but I am determined to become a Dauntless member. The need is almost for me to validate my choice, to make up for what I have lost. What I have done. Abandoning my mother and sweet Prim in Amity was the hardest decision of my life. I haven't failed any level in Dauntless initiation yet, and I won't let myself become factionless. Gale might have said exasperatedly in a rant to me some days ago, before the Choosing Ceremony, that maybe factionless, boundless, was better than our bounded system. How can it, though, when there is nothing to live for there?

But what do I have to live for here in Dauntless? There is no love for life and its preservation as there was in Amity. All are reckless, foolish. The worst traits of any greedy person radiates here; Finnick, an instructor, flirts shamelessly; a guard named Johanna makes rude jokes; Haymitch, an overseer of the initiates, drinks on the job; I only like Cinna, a tattoo artist. My arm still smarts from the tattoo I received from him yesterday, when we had a nice long chat, the best I've had since before I jerked a rough knife against my palm and silently let my blood speak for me.

The fear landscape was introduced to us by an instructor named Cashmere, harshly described and demonstrated. But I paid attention, and as I push the door open, I see a computer behind a booth. It's on, meaning someone's been on it recently. They might come back. Part of me, the logical part, says it makes sense to wait for someone who knows exactly what they're doing to stick a needle in me, but I am wary of people. I don't trust them. I trust myself less, but I know my abilities. My memory is keen and my fingers fast as I look up my name and find a long number attached to it. I see Gloss, Cashmere's brother, in my mind sticking a vial of serum with my number on it from a drawer and replacing the empty cartridge in a syringe with it. I search the drawer and find one. Throwing caution away, caring not who prepared this beforehand for my later use, I steal a syringe and replace the empty vial with the filled.

I am about to plunge it into my olive-colored skin, right into a vein, when I hear the door open. My eyes catch sight of a body hanging out of the doorway, hesitant when they see it is me, the harsh, brash, impersonal transfer from Amity. Then I put a name to the ruffled blond hair and bright blue eyes immediately dilating. Peeta Mellark. He transferred from Amity and is ranked number 7 so far, making Cato, Glimmer, Marvel, and Clove pay only a slight bit of attention to him. But they only know him as an admirer of mine, which makes them shun him. After all, I ranked number 1.

"Katniss, what are you doing in here?" His eyes widen, seeing the syringe. "You're going through your fear landscape?"

I shrug. Yes. Then I pierce my skin. He yells and I look defiantly at him.

"Katniss, an instructor is supposed to do that!" Then he does something I didn't expect; I watch his legs as he hurries past me and grabs a vial labeled with my number. He takes a syringe and inserts it and before I can stop him, he stares me in the eyes and plunges the serum into his body.

"Peeta!" I say, but the syringe drops from my hand and he's no longer in front of me. I am in the fields of Amity, with long weeds bending in the wind with me. I used to come here afternoons with Gale and sit in the sun, away from all the happy people. While having my community be happy and well fed is not a bad thing, Gale and I needed time alone, just for the two of us. He betrayed with an Abnegation trait when he stayed in Amity to take care of his family.

I look around the sun-beaten fields, searching for my horror, my personal torture, when Peeta appears in front of me, startling me.

"Katniss," he says, breathing hard, "you can't do that."

"Why not? You just did," I say.

"We're just initiates; worse, transfers. We can't do anything we want in a compound we barely know," Peeta says. "We could get kicked out of Dauntless."

I shrug, shake my head. "What rule are we breaking?"

He doesn't say anything.

"There are no rules in Dauntless," I say. "Not even the moral ones that weigh right and wrong." I am talking, but wary of any preying menace. What is coming to attack me, to make me grovel to my knees? I haven't experienced a fear yet. There were so many initiates to get through that mine and a few others were for tomorrow. I stare curiously now at Peeta; earlier today he had experienced a fear of his own. I watched from the sidelines as he shouted "No! Stop! Don't hurt her! Take me! Hurt me!" at the wall, to invisible people with invisible weapons and an invisible her. I frown. That was private. Now my fear landscape is private. I don't know what to expect, which just adds to my irritation at Peeta's intrusion. "Why'd you stick yourself if you knew it was what you thought was wrong?"

"I experienced a fear of mine in here. It's not as easy as you think, to face your fear by yourself. I couldn't let you go through your fear landscape by yourself," Peeta says. His face is unapologetic, silently saying that he thinks he made the right choice as his blue eyes scan the fields; he says, "What are we looking for here?"

I am not sure. I say nothing, but my grey eyes squint and try to seek amongst the stems for a predator, something to tear me down. I clench my fists, ready to take down anything that comes my way; then I hear a screamed warning and catch the sight of Peeta; he is saying something, warning me, but I hear nothing until silence is illuminated with a roar in my ear. Above my face is a gnarled mouth snarled with teeth, blood, and guts; a large animal, and I have no way to fend it off. I am being attacked, and I will die by this animal.

Something tightens in my throat and I want to push him away, shoot him full of weapons; I feel my heart beating its way out of my chest, a claw right on top of it, about to scratch it out. I am powerless; my muscles are tense and bent against the ground. I am utterly trapped; everything, from my body to my breath. Pain shoots everywhere. Dying. I will die.

_Slow your heartbeat. Or plow through your fear._

My fear of death; I am going to die, and I don't want to die; so I must want to die; and suddenly that isn't that hard to think about. So I think of white clouds and vast green fields, and soft feelings I rarely feel for anyone except my little sister; hope, love, being safe. Death isn't something to be afraid of; I must accept the death on me.

So I lie limp and think of flowers and peace and flying blonde braids and a hope that doesn't fade; and I hear the screams of Peeta as my body is torn into pieces.

Suddenly I feel his hands around my shoulders. "Katniss?"

I open my eyes to see I'm standing on a road; it's grey and covered in stray pieces of rubble and potholes. The day shines with clouds. Peeta's face shines golden; he releases a sigh and I say, "I'm fine. I didn't really die."

He gulps and stands at my side, making me turn to study him in surprise. He swallows again, and says, almost resignedly, "Do you recognize this place?"

I feel the fear then; it engulfs my body and makes me stiff, makes me want to run far, far far away. I see a row of broken cars, all smashed together, with fire blazing in their engines. Men are everywhere; they pull bodies and revive and lie dead. Blood spills on the ground in drips and streaks. I don't want to stand, but I can only look on as my legs free; I try to run, and a shout catches in my throat; I can't run and I can't scream. I can only stand, truly helpless, as I watch two men drag out the broken, grey body of my father. Oh, he was so handsome, with a voice like a mockingjay, a bird that communicated with us in the orchards of Amity. Now he is pale, limp, and I can't do anything.

"Katniss! This isn't real! This is just a simulation! Not real, Katniss! Not real!" Peeta calls, his hands touching my arms, trying to calm me. But I don't want his soothing words and touches; I want to save my father, turn back time, not relive five years of waking from nightmares of this very scenario. I am so helpless; I am pathetic, broken.

Suddenly the cars disappear; the blood is gone and so is my father's lifeless body. I am allowed to fall to my knees and hide my face in my hands as I rock back and forth. Tears fall freely, in regret and horror and want; I want my father back so badly I can hardly stand it.

I rock back and forth and back and forth for a minute more; then the simulation ends because the time has run out; I have endured its course by rocking my heart gently to a calm state.

Then I hold a strange weapon in my hand; it's a piece of bendy wood almost in the shape of the letter C with a string pulled almost taunt. Notched in the string is a stick with a pointed end and a feathered end. I hold it and I suddenly know how to bend it and let the bullet(?) sing through the air into my target. And my target is a boy; it's Marvel, to my surprise.

Suddenly I know I'm supposed to kill him; he's killed someone dear to me. He killed Rue, a little girl with a soft voice who works in the Amity orchards.

Peeta stands by my side and sees the situation; he instantly connects the dots and almost stays my hand, but he's one second too late. He stares at me in shock when the boy falls to the ground; "Katniss!"

"I had to." I lower my bow.

"No. You never have to kill someone. You had choices, Katniss," Peeta says. "It's not real. You wouldn't have felt a consequence if you defied the orders you were told!"

I meet his eyes. "It doesn't matter. Like you said. It's not real."

Peeta shakes his head, his blue eyes shining. He looks so earnest, trying to find words. He swallows. "Katniss, you should never do that. Killing isn't right. You know that. You just saw your father in an accident. That hurt. That was just an accident. How can bringing such grief and sorrow help you?" He shakes his head again.

Suddenly all goes dark. I look around, and find I no longer have the bow in my hands. Instead I hear voices echoing in my head; Finnick, the flirty instructor; Glimmer, Marvel, Cato, and Gloss; many other voices I don't know, the anonymous, but they pound into my head that because of my actions, my choices, they're all dead. My hand caused their death.

_It's not real, it's not real, it's not real _I beg myself to remember as I try to block out the voices; but I hear screams, accusations, ghosts of voices as they fade; it's like a nightmare, a bad dream where all I've done renders me what I truly am; a cold, heartless monster. The guilt wracks me and I scream. I apologize a thousand times, begging for forgiveness so that they can go away, just leave me alone.

I can't find Peeta in the dark; I want his touch now. I want soothing words and I want forgiveness. I want relief and all becomes too dark, too overwhelming, when every thought beats with my heart: _their blood, spilled by my hand__._

My apologies finally work. Only when I start to mean them, though; only when the horror of what I have done has dawned on me and I realize how horrible I am. Then it quiets, and a spotlight falls on me. I shake in a tiny ball and feel hands gently grasp mine. I sob and fall into welcome arms, trembling.

I want to stay here and just breathe for a moment, but moments are precious in a simulation. All my bravado is gone but the simulations keep on coming; why am I so scared of so many things?

The next is easy; Peeta and I are surrounded by great orange flames of fire; I can't escape them, so I don't. The tongues of fire lick us and send burns, blisters, puckered skin, and harsh heat against our skin. Peeta hisses next to me, but I feel my heart beat slower and slower. I try to push the pain out of my body; I know it will be over soon. Forget it and it will be gone.

My eyes are closed, but I perceive the change of scenery; I feel Peeta inhale deeply and whisper, "Oh, Katniss." I look not, but he shakes my shoulders gently. But firmly. "You have to face it. That's half the battle."

He is right; I hate having to be strong after being broken down. But I stand up and see the long trains of Dauntless; I see the iron tracks and the sun shining and the speeding light run away and the bloody corpse lay across the tracks.

Immediately a pit forms in my stomach; I can run to her now; I know this beloved face, all cold and choking on the blood building in her throat. I lay my little sister's head on my lap and whisper soft things to her, tears falling down my lips. My hands stroke her blonde hair. Peeta kneels next to her, his mouth hanging open. He recognizes my little sister, only twelve-years-old. Usually so lively, so innocent. She knitted and sought to help the Erudite when their doctors had patients too mentally unsound. She ran to the blood and I ran away; not because of it being a fear. No. I don't think that will show up, disgusting wounds. They were more gross and exposing.

I don't run away now as I watch the wound rise and fall with her breaths, the blood bend up and down and then flow in tiny streams down her yellow dress. She gasps; "It hurts, Katniss."

"I know, I know," I whisper. I want to scream at the train conductor who did this, but I can't; I must comfort my tiny Prim, knowing her injury is too grievous to mend. "I can't do anything about it, and I'm sorry. I love you, Prim. I do, I do." She looks up with her eyes alight and then tiredly closes them. I bow my head over her small head and sobs wrack my body but no sound comes out. My lips shake as I kiss her forehead.

Then the simulation ends. I kneel on the ground of green grass, and I feel Peeta's eyes on my head; he wonders in sorrow and I say nothing. Instead I look up.

In front of me is a garden scattered with beautiful beds of roses, all their colors gorgeous in red, or white or soft pink. Delicate, with thorns, tall and strong, bushes are lined with them. I am not deceived by this beauty, though. I stand up, a hardness in my heart from what I just saw. I will master this fear.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" Peeta and I stand up and stare at the old man across from us. He emerges from the aisle, twirling a white rose in his gloved fingers. A handkerchief hides in his front pocket; his eyes are menacing and cunning, his mouth soft and curled, his hair as white as snow. I feel an immense hatred of this man, for I know that the white lies to me; white is pure and good and innocent. This man is anything but.

He withdraws a little pair of scissors and cuts himself another rose. He sniffs it and says, "So delicate, yet so dangerous. Roses are truly remarkable." He slips the two roses in with his handkerchief and sits in a lawn chair. He pours himself a cup of lemonade and smiles charmingly at Peeta and me. But our faces are set in stone; we're ready to fight.

I have no idea what to expect from this man; to anyone else's eyes he would appear as a grandfather. But my eyes have untwisted his kindly features into what truly lies beneath his skin. I'm on edge, ready for something for me to kill or find dead; but then I say, "Indeed. Rose is part of my sister's name."

He smiles. "Wonderful. How old is she?"

"Twelve."

"A lovely little child, I'm sure. And you'd die for her in a heartbeat, wouldn't you? So kind, so devoted, Katniss," he whispers, like the hiss of a snake.

I don't want him to know my name; I don't like the way he perceives me as a tool, as a pawn; he thinks I'll do anything, even die, for my little sister. I am fully aware now that this isn't real, that my sister's life doesn't lie in his hands, but he pretends it to be. I know, I know; but the pressure fills me just the same as if he did. He knows I am a puppet, ready to do anything for my sister. So I stare at him and hate him and wait for his command.

He offers his scissors with an encouraging smile. "Cut me a rose, Katniss."

Wanting to pounce on him, I take his scissors. I smell his breath as I turn away; it smells like blood.

The nearest rose I cut; it is the most beautiful I see. One slice and it falls into the palm of my hand. I turn, my hands holding both items, and the snow-haired man smiles. "Bring me the rose, Katniss."

My fear: being controlled against my will. I don't want to obey his orders. I hate him.

So I smile. I turn to Peeta and press the white rose into the palm of his hand.

Then we're surrounded by graffiti and cold, dripping pipes, an otherwise dark room around us, excepting a few spare light bulbs. I see Peeta's empty hand, and I register that everything around me is as real as it can be.

I meet Peeta's eyes. He holds up six fingers. "Six fears."

Six fears. My fears of dying a bloody death; being helpless when I'm begging to help; killing someone and feeling that burden; being overwhelmed by my current situation; anything bad happening to Prim; and being controlled against my will.

"Six," I repeat. I am awkward with words as I stare at Peeta, wondering what he must think of me now; he saw all the weakest points of me; my sobbing and screaming; I called out _his _name in the dark. Not my sister's or Gale's. Peeta's. He went through with me and I am demanding a review of what he's seen.

He simply inhales deeply and forces a smile. "Six fears. You'll make it through to the end yet."

Initiation. Dauntless. I forgot them. "Thank you," I whisper. Thank you for being there as a scrap of hope for me to cling to in the dark.

His smile is almost self-deprecating. "You're welcome." Then we walk out, throw the syringes away, and step into the sunshine of a clear day; how can it be so nice out, how can the sun still shine when I was so engulfed with darkness just minutes ago?

Then I attach a reason as I watch Peeta fade from sight, leaving me by the roaring chasm. Because the light cannot be suppressed in the dark.

**Thanks for reading! God bless you!**


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